


Wipe The Dust From My Eyes

by onebatch2batch



Series: Flowershop/Tattoo Artist AU [2]
Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, F/M, Spin off from previous fic, Valentine's Day one shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 19:35:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13688349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onebatch2batch/pseuds/onebatch2batch
Summary: Spin-Off Valentine's Day one shot for "Ink & Petals" AU. Takes place six months after end of story.





	Wipe The Dust From My Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> An anon asked for this yesterday and I wrote like a crazy person to get it out in time. Thank you for all the love on the 4 chaptered fic, and also--
> 
> There is a sequel in the works. :)
> 
> xoxo

Karen Page has never really cared much for Valentine’s Day. She had a rocky dating life growing up, and it seemed like she was never dating someone when the holiday came around. Before dating Frank Castle, the concept of Valentine’s Day wasn’t one she regularly entertained. In fact, she was usually more excited for the half-price candy the day after, rather than the holiday itself. 

Therefore when she and Trish Walker leave their boxing class on Sunday the 12th of February and Trish asks, “What are you and Frank doing for Valentine’s Day?” Karen’s heart sinks.

Boxing had been something to keep her busy, when she first moved to the city. After seeing Frank, it had been a way to keep up with him. Frank is incredibly active, and after two morning runs where he’d had to slow down for her, she had decided enough was enough. Trish has been her sparring partner for several months now, and they have become fast friends. So when she asks her innocent question, Karen isn’t ashamed to groan. She smacks a hand to her forehead. “Oh my god, that’s this week.”

Trish gives her a sympathetic look. “Yikes. Two days to plan—any ideas?”

Honestly, she and Frank have been dating for six months now and she hadn’t even stopped to think of something like Valentine’s Day. It’s been so long since she has that the holiday had slipped from her mind—and he hadn’t mentioned anything, either. She sighs as they set off own the sidewalk. “I have no idea.”

She’s not even sure how Frank would feel about celebrating the holiday. He was married to his wife for years—she can only imagine what kind of memories the day drags up. Trish shoves her hands in her pockets as the wind picks up. It’s a cold day, and neither woman wants to start their trek home. “Well…how about a nice dinner?”

Karen huffs. “You’ve had my cooking, Trish.”

“Oh, right. Bad idea.”

They huddle together as they walk, brainstorming ideas back and forth until they have to go their separate ways. Karen thanks her for her help as she sets off in the direction of Frank’s apartment, brow furrowed.

There’s got to be something she can do on such short notice.

 

\--

 

Getting answers out of Frank Castle is like pulling teeth. When Karen gets to his apartment, the open layout is filled with all kinds of delicious smells. She kicks off her tennis shoes by the door and makes her way into the bedroom. She can hear Frank moving around in the kitchen as he cooks, and by the time she’s done with her shower, he’s plating the food.

“Hi,” she smiles, kissing his cheek in greeting. “How was your day?”

He’s in his lazy Sunday attire—sweats and a tank top—and she admires the sinew and ink of his arms as he grins at her. “Been good, better now. How was class?”

“It was good, actually. I’m starting to get a handle on it. Maybe one of these days I can keep up with you.” She laughs as they both take a seat at the counter to eat. She makes the joke frequently—half hoping he’ll take pity on her, half hoping he’ll push her harder. He only rolls his eyes in amusement.

“You do keep up.”

“Hey.” She points her fork at him. “Babying me is only going to make me complacent. You’re supposed to tell me _only if you work hard_ or something equally motivational.” His easy laughter almost makes her forget what she was gearing up to ask him. He does that to her—he seems to take all of her worries and troubles and slips them away without her noticing. “So, um, Trish mentioned something to me as we were leaving.” At his raised brow, she hurries onward, poking at the food on her plate. “Did you realize that Valentine’s Day is Tuesday?”

After half a year together, Karen has decided her favorite thing about Frank is how expressive he is with her. To anyone else he holds a certain amount of restraint in his emotions and expressions, but with her it’s as if he’s unafraid to let her see anything on his mind. Except, of course, for when she really needs to know what he’s thinking. Like right now.

Now, he ducks his head in a nod and takes a bite of his food without looking at her. “Sure did,” he says lightly.

Karen squints at him. He’s being purposefully evasive, which is unlike him. “...did you, um…want to do anything?”

He looks up and fixes her with a curious frown. “Do you?”

Karen’s not sure how to answer that. With her track record on Valentine’s Day, she’s almost okay with treating it like any other day. Although she wonders if, after losing his family...does Frank even want to celebrate? Or does it make him want to celebrate more, now that he can again? Karen worries her lip and shrugs. “I’ll be busy at work that day,” she says slowly.

He nods, expression carefully blank. “Then we’ll just grab some dinner after work and head home. Sound good?”

She nods and takes another bite of her food, but there is a hollow feeling in her stomach that tells her that no, it _doesn’t_ sound good.

So she decides to make a plan.

 

\--

 

Frank Castle doesn’t panic—he worries, and he gets anxious, but he doesn’t panic.

At least, he doesn’t until the Sunday before Valentine’s Day when Karen had asked about the holiday and Frank had realized that he had completely forgotten about it. It’s been almost five years since he’d actually celebrated it; there wasn’t much dating happening between losing his family and Karen, and he kept himself in a haze when it came to any dates other than their birthdays.

So when Karen had looked at them with those big, hopeful blue eyes, he had panicked. He knew that she hadn’t had much luck in dating either, but after six months of being together, he should have seen it coming. He should have been planning it.

“So what are you going to do?” Curtis asks during a lull in business. Valentine’s Day isn’t exactly a party for a tattoo shop, and they’ve been slow. Dinah had already left for the day to take her girlfriend on a series of intricate dates, and David was out for a couple days, taking Sarah on some romantic holiday upstate. Frank lets out a breath, arm thrown across the back of the couch in the waiting area.

“I figured I would, I don’t know, make her dinner or somethin’. ‘M not good at this romance shit anymore, Curt.”

Curtis rolls his eyes. “You’re better than you think. Maria used to talk about that shit all the time.”

And therein lies another problem—Frank hasn’t celebrated Valentine’s Day with anyone other than his dead wife since he was eighteen. As much as he knows it doesn’t make sense to feel guilty, he still does. There’s still so much love he has for Maria, and some days he misses her more than others. Frank lets his head fall against the back of the couch and groans.

“I just want to make her happy,” he says after a beat of silence.

The smile in Curtis’ voice reassures him when he says, “I think you’ve got that covered, man.”

 

\--

 

True to her word, _Fresh Blooms_ is ridiculously busy on Tuesday. Karen barely has time to breathe between the stream of customers, and by the time close rolls around, she’s slightly panicked. Her plan should have begun nearly an hour ago, and now she’s barely got any time to do what she really wanted to do—run to his favorite take out place, show up to his work with a beautiful bouquet and dinner.

What really happens is that she calls him and tells him she’ll be a little late, and maybe he should just come to her store. Then she can present him with the flowers and go to dinner from there. It’s not really what she wanted, but she hadn’t been expecting exactly how busy she was.

His resistance surprises her. “Why don’t ya just come to mine? I mean, uh, it's on the way.”

Karen cradles the phone to her ear, grimacing. She’s trying to make his bouquet, and she’s running out of time. She still has two other orders to fill before she closes in twenty minutes. “Okay, sure, but I have to go. See you soon.”

 

—

 

Nearly half an hour later, Karen walks into _Punishing Ink_ to find it completely empty. The lights have been dimmed, and the building is quiet. The sign says they’ve closed early for the holiday, but the door had been left unlocked for her. She hefts her bouquet in her arms and walks towards the back where Frank’s office sits. He rarely uses the room, mostly to balance the books and place orders, and she knocks once she reaches it.

“Hang on, sweetheart,” Frank calls, muffled, and then there’s some shuffling and he opens the door.

He’s in the same clothes he was wearing when they left his apartment this morning, dark jeans and a blue henley. He leans down and kisses her, soft and sweet, then looks down at the flowers in her hands. “Those for me?” He asks with a wide smile.

“No, they’re for my other boyfriend. I’m meeting him after.” Karen grins, then passes them over. “Of course they’re for you.”

He takes them and then pauses; she hears his breath catch and bites her lip nervously. When he looks back up at her, his expression is both wrecked and grateful all at once. “Peonies?” He says weakly, eyes wide and shining.

Karen steps forward and kisses the scruff on his cheek, trying to keep her own emotions at bay. It’s something she debated for a long time, choosing to include his wife’s favorite flowers. She knew how much it would mean to him, and eventually that overruled her fear of him getting upset with her.  “I figured today would be hard,” she says softly, wrapping him in a hug. “I just wanted you to know...I’m not trying to replace them.”

He buries his face in the juncture of her shoulder and takes a sharp breath. “Thank you, Karen.” His voice is ragged, and they sway just inside the door, locked in one another’s embrace, the silence a comforting weight around them. When he pulls away his eyes are dry. He kisses her forehead.

“I wasn’t sure what to do for you,” he admits, stepping aside. She looks past him to the desk, where he’s laid out several items amongst a few lit candles. There’s a bottle of vodka, what looks to be spaghetti (the first meal he ever made her), and a tell-tale container off to the side.

“Are those—“

“The cannolis. From that place we went to on your birthday.” He smiles and it crinkles around his eyes. “I just wanted this to be special, and flowers were out of the question, so—“

“I love it. It’s like a feast of our firsts.” She tilts her head. “The vodka?”

“For vodka sodas. That’s what you were drinking.” His ears turn a little pink when she blinks at him in confusion. “The night you kissed me.”

Karen feels warmth fill her from head to toe at the mention of that night. The night they got drunk and he walked her home, and she couldn’t help but kiss him. The night they fell into bed together and began a six-month relationship that only got better with each passing day. Karen turns and locks the door, then pushes him down into his office chair with a wide smirk. He falls back with a grunt and then raises a brow, but there’s a heat in his eyes that makes her weak at the knees. “What are you plannin’?”

Karen braces her hands on his thighs, leaning down to kiss him. “I was planning on eating this wonderful, thoughtful meal. But now I have other ideas.”

“What kind of ideas?” He murmurs, watching as she kneels in front of him. His hands grip the armrests tightly as her hands converge on his belt buckle.

Karen only blinks up at him innocently, letting her hands speak for themselves. She tugs down his jeans, mouthing at the bulge in his underwear teasingly. It’s rare that Frank lets her do this—usually he’s more focused on her than anything (says he had been used to going without during his time as a Marine, and then later on after his family’s deaths). There’s an extra little thrill from doing this here, in his building, where his hands first touched her skin, all those months ago.

Karen pulls his underwear down to join his jeans, then takes him in her mouth. Frank lets out a soft hiss above her, fisting his hands in her hair. She hums at the sharp pleasure-pain that comes from it. “Shit, Karen,” he says, voice all smoke and gravel.

She dips her head, running her hands up his thighs, under his shirt. The hard edges of his abs contract under her fingers, and she can feel his restraint. He’s trying to stay still, and she pulls off of him with an audible _pop_. “I’m not going to break, Frank,” she tells him matter of factly.

He stares down at her, chest heaving. When he nods, she pulls him back into her mouth and feels him begin to move under her, thrusting upwards with soft grunts. When he finally comes, she rocks back on her heels and swallows, wiping her mouth. Post-orgasm Frank is a gift, she thinks, watching him. He’s got his head tilted back, breathing hard, dick lying flat against his lower stomach. He looks the image of dishevelment, and not for the first time, Karen thinks _I love this man_. When she stands, he opens his eyes to look at her.

She perches on the edge of his desk, watching as he rolls closer. His hands come to rest on her waist, and Karen tilts her head to look at him with a smile. “I like this look on you,” she teases, glancing down at his exposed lower half.

Frank gives her a rueful grin. “Yeah? Lay back. I’ll show ya something else you’ll like.”

Karen does as she’s told, carefully laying back after pushing the food containers off to the side. Her pants are tugged off without delay and then Frank’s mouth is on her, lapping at her until she’s bucking up against him, gasping. “Oh, Frank, fuck—yes—“ He pushes a finger into her, then two, curling them until she’s crying out. He rides out her orgasm, tongue pushing into her folds eagerly. Afterwards, she lies there and feels his mouth press soft kisses to her inner thigh, her hip, her bellybutton. She cards her fingers through his hair and sighs, content, the desk hard against her back. When he pulls away, yanking up his pants, she rolls her head to watch in disappointment. He catches her look at laughs out loud. “I’m not eatin’ with my dick out,” he tells her. “Come on, I’m starved.”

He pulls up a chair for her as she redresses. The building is quiet around them besides their conversation and the clink of silverware. Karen manages to get through a majority of the meal keeping her hands to herself, but after he flashes her a wide, sated smile, she can’t help it. She leans forward and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth without warning.

“Thank you,” she murmurs at his questioning gaze. “This is the best Valentine’s I’ve ever had.”

Frank cups her cheek, eyes soft. “I love you,” he returns, quiet and content.

Karen smiles, wide and toothy and happy. “I love you too. But I would love you even _more_ if we broke out the dessert.”

“Your wish is my command,” he says seriously, flipping open the box. He reaches in but doesn’t pull out a cannoli; instead he smears some powdered sugar across her lips and leans forward to lick it off, and she’s got laughter bubbling up in her as his own lips descend down her jaw and over her shoulder.

“Frank,” she objects, squirming away from his ticklish beard.

He leans back and gives her a wide-eyed look of innocence. “What?” he says, grinning. “You said break out the dessert.”

Karen rolls her eyes fondly, reaching in and flicking some powdered sugar at him as well. It catches in the trimmed hairs of his beard and the image is so ridiculous that she dissolves into laughter. He laughs softly alongside her and Karen thinks, _Definitely. Definitely the best Valentine’s Day ever._

And then, reaching over to help him clean up, she lets herself think, _And hopefully one of many._

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on tumblr! (onebatch2batch)
> 
> Title from "Lost In The Wild" - WALKTHEMOON


End file.
